


Statements on Steps

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (XI)
Genre: Community: lgbtfest, Gen, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suvin was all set to transition, arrangements made, leave booked, her physicians on Vulcan ready and waiting, and then the planet exploded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statements on Steps

**Author's Note:**

> the Vulcan terminology in this story is the result of extrapolation on individual words found at [The Vulcan Language Dictionary](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/). My thanks to [](http://shopfront.livejournal.com/profile)[**shopfront**](http://shopfront.livejournal.com/) for her mad beta skills, [](http://feanna.livejournal.com/profile)[**feanna**](http://feanna.livejournal.com/) for logical thinking that would make any Vulcan greener with envy, and [](http://killing-rose.livejournal.com/profile)[**killing_rose**](http://killing-rose.livejournal.com/) for all the great suggestions and help!

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.17**

I am afraid.

I am afraid and I am exhilarated and I should be ashamed to make such an admission, even here in the privacy of my quarters. After all that has occurred in these recent, most terrible of days, that I may finally speak the words brings a myriad of sensations that are difficult to name. Relief numbers the greatest of them, but guilt does not fall far behind.

I am a Vulcan. Perhaps it is unseemly that I should acknowledge these things within myself, but they are there and I can see no reason for which to deny them. Not when, so long, they and others have been the touchstone by which I have known myself.

Signposts to guide me along in my travels and which I require now more than ever.

It has been seventy-five days since the loss of all that we are. Seventy-eight days since my departure from the sisters presence and seventy-nine days since my final descent from Seleya.

I grieve the mountain and the women who died with it and will grieve them for many years to come. Partly for who they were and are to Vulcan, but in full because of who they were and are to me. Those halls and the women who guarded them were the shelter of hundreds, an act made precious to me by my inclusion in them.

Seleya was closed to many Vulcans, but those like I, and others like me, were among the precious few granted leave to pass freely amongst the sisters as we made our way. I am _ko-guv-sha'es_. I am a woman. Though my body is that of a man, I am and always have been, a woman and within Seleya's protection I was given leave to explore the import of this without shame or recrimination.

It was that exploration which led me to the place where I now stand, with the intent to reconcile my body to mirror my katra. I will become as I have always known myself to be and, yet, I experience apprehension and remind myself of Surak's words.

_Dakh pthak_ \- cast out fear. He was correct, so very, in a great many things, but most especially that. Unless one casts out fear, all that whispers to you in the night will crowd in and you are lost.

I must be clear, even in this log, that I have been shamed by no one on this ship. The few whom I have permitted to know the circumstances thus far have responded most favorably. I believe that it is not a wild assumption to believe they are the rule as opposed to the objection. Despite the concerns of our forefathers of a generation ago, more often than not, humanity not only demonstrates the principles of IDIC, they embrace them with a fervor that is almost worrying.

This, I believe, highlights the current difficulties inherent in my situation. I have yet to approach Doctor McCoy as I am concerned as to his response on the matter. He is an extremely proficient physician and I have found no reports which would suggest otherwise. I have no doubt that, should I choose to entrust him with this procedure, he would perform more than adequately in the execution of his duties.

And yet I find myself quite unable to make the request of him. I am confused by this, but I cannot permit myself to remain in this state for long.

With the loss of Vulcan, I find myself disturbingly short on physicians familiar with the genetic treatment which I require. Doctor McCoy is one of the few Starfleet physicians with a strong background in the area, having trained with several Vulcan physicians who pioneered the technique, and I deny myself and all who have journeyed before me by permitting fear to hold me back.

As such, I have elected to speak with Commander Spock. Having served longer with Doctor McCoy, I believe him the logical choice to assist me.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.18**

So, it seems, I am a goddamn menace against all Vulcankind. Now, I know what you're thinking and I'm going to tell you right off that you're wrong. About twenty different kinds of wrong as, surprisingly, I'm not talking about Spock.

Yeah, I'm not quite sure what the hell to make of that one either. I annoy him, but apparently I scare the rest of them. All right, maybe not the rest of them, just one. Lieutenant Suvin. Didn't really know much about the boy beyond the obvious. He's a little older than Spock, around forty if I remember his service record right, and is our brand new chief of security.

He transferred aboard right before we shipped out - part of a small bunch of experienced officers Starfleet fobbed off on Jim since they couldn't have a bunch of cadets running the flagship.

Not that Suvin's been much of a problem. Truthfully, beyond his intake physical, I've seen him twice. He's quiet, like most Vulcans. Didn't think he had much opinion of me one way or the other.

Boy was I wrong on that one. Been wrong about a lot of things in my life - somewhere at this moment Jocelyn is having herself one hell of a belly laugh and, really? I can't blame her too much for that one, god knows she's earned it - so it's not exactly new.

Anyway, I had myself a little visit from the First Officer. Not precisely sure how he got into the mix on this one, but he seemed plenty embarrassed so I'm not really going to ask.

Anyway, our royal lord and master walked through the door around 0900 this morning, all stiff-legged and having himself a fine mad. If he'd had a tail instead of those ears, it would've been making a fine mess of my sickbay. You ever see a cat fall down and not land on their feet?

Spock stalked up to the door, didn't so much as chime, and let himself in. Cut right in on a log entry. That's the worst part about recording these things. Sure, you don't have to worry about your hands being full, but that mic picks up every single fucking thing if you don't forget to pause recording and, fuck, I need to remember to edit this one. Supposed to make it easy for a man to catch up on his paperwork, recording logs like this, but hell if I don't spend half my time fixing the logs too.

He didn't glare, that'd be unseemly, but I definitely got the impression that he figured this was all my fault. Like I said, he doesn't handle being embarrassed well and, this time, I got myself a speech about the right to be, uh, lord help me if Uhura ever hears me butchering this, _fna-guv-sha'es_.

Now my Vulcan is rusty at best, took me a minute's checking with the computer to realize what it meant.

In Standard it means identifying as transgendered, but first thing you learn about Standard is it's about as poetic as a brick wall and a really ugly brick wall at that. Transgendered is the best Standard can do but - to hear Spock talk - the concept's Vulcan equivalent is all hearts and rainbows. Yeah, I'm not sure either, but it doesn't matter. The point is, the word is beautiful and the Standard translation is a goddamn disaster.

About there, halfway through a lecture on responsibility and statistical aberration (I think he was meaning the probability of being born transgendered, but it's Spock. Why say it in ten words when you can do it in a hundred?) I cut him off and asked just what in the hell he was on about.

That was the first moment Lieutenant Suvin's name entered into the mix and, at first, all I knew of the lieutenant was his intake physical. We've had the odd brief conversation here and there on about half a dozen away missions, but nothing memorable. On the ones Jim didn't get us shot at or the locals didn't just randomly start shooting at us, I spent most of those I spent bickering with Spock and, well, that tends to take up a man's concentration.

Which, as it turns out, might have been the problem. Most people don't get Spock and me - us included - but it works. Never really occurred to either of us how someone else might see it.

Lieutenant Suvin heard every word that came out of my mouth and somewhere in there came to the conclusion I don't like Vulcans all that much. Hell, I can't really blame the boy. _Girl._

Computer, strike that last. Goddamn it, Len, you're a damn doctor. Start talking like one. The patient is transgender, identifying as female, and shall, hereafter, be referred to by the gender which is theirs. Namely, she.

Yeah, I'm a horse's ass, but I'm fixing it.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.23**

It is not unheard of to question or explain one's identity whether you are Vulcan, Terran, or otherwise. Starfleet and the Federation regularly bring us into contact with those who view us as wholly alien and are curious. It is as much a part of my duties as any other and, as such, I have had frequent cause to represent all Vulcan to those I have encountered.

Ironic that I would be expected to explain the Vulcan ideal to the curious even as I seek to understand it myself. I am not representative of all Vulcan and yet, in some ways, I am.

It has become cliche to make mention of IDIC. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination. As efficient a language as Standard can be, it fails quite spectacularly when asked to properly translate certain Vulcan terms. Devoted though we are to reason and logic, there are times when even we are given to dramatic license and poetic flare. IDIC does indeed translate as Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination, but that is so woefully inadequate as to properly address it's meaning.

Vulcan does, indeed, embrace any and all within its society. We are not without our failures, our prejudices, or our foibles. I have not met wholesale acceptance over my life and that has wounded deep.

I live with these wounds and I embrace them. If I make that struggle sound overly simplistic, I assure you that it is not. We are more for our failures than without, but that does not make them easy to accept or bear.

I have experienced pain because of the failure of others, others have experienced pain because of mine. They have been shaped by those wounds as I have been shaped by mine. My Human shipmates have difficulty in comprehending this explanation and I do not blame them.

Humans have difficulty enough comprehending common Vulcan experiences and mine is a life which even Vulcans struggle to understand. To be born in a state of flux as I am, physically male with a katra that is female, on Vulcan is to be born on a particular journey. I cannot say that my parents were always aware of my identity. Although our telepathy does enhance communication between parent and child, I was an infant and as yet too young to properly deal with the concepts of gender and identity.

Gradually, I began to understand and my world slowly resolved into a clearer image, one that did not match my expectations. It was not long after that I approached my parents.

My mother was an engineer by trade, but also managed our clan's business affairs, while my father worked as a gamekeeper on Vulcan's Forge (to this day, I regret that we never fulfilled my childhood desire to attempt domestication of a le-mayta) and monitored the sehlat and le-mayta populations therein. They were not experts in gender identity or its variations, but they did understand.

To be born thus is not unheard of on Vulcan. Surak taught us to control our desires, but he did not ask us to deny our identities. On the contrary, it was then that we began to attempt understanding them. In the thousands of years before the Awakening and Reformation, those of us who existed as _fna-guv-sha'es_, (whether we were _ko-guv-sha'es_ \- female, or _sa-guv-sha'es_ \- male in our identity) faced limited options. Gender is not a binary existence, but ours is a people fond of concrete answers. In the eyes of society, we were a question without answer.

In time became possible to surgically alter one's physical body to reach its desired appearance, should one wish. There were limitations and, as such, the method was imperfect and often the process poorly understood.

However, we are a curious race and cannot leave questions to merely be.

Vulcans are numbered among the masters of genetic technology and, in recent years, the Vulcan Science Academy has perfected the treatment by which our very genetic code may be restructured. It is not the sole solution offered to us, we are given many choices and many paths, but one thing has become clear.

We are no longer questions. Whatever else we face, we know who we are and, now, those we stand before know as well.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.23**

So, that thing about being a horse's ass? While curable, still makes you feel pretty damn awful. Particularly when the lady in question happens to be sitting in your office with her proverbial heart in hand.

That's the thing about Vulcans. They can have their moments, (God knows, Spock can rip a man to shreds with a well-placed word or two) but more often than not, they're so damn _careful_.

Never waste words, never misspeak, never infer something about somebody else. They're goddamn masters at making you feel like a bull in the linguistic china shop and, the kicker, they're not even trying to.

Amazing people. Absolutely amazing people.

Spent about an hour or so going over Suvin's history with her. The thing I don't have to worry about is whether or not Suvin's making an informed decision. Ignoring, for the moment, that the lady goddamn _knows_, the Vulcans pretty much have the psychology cold.

It almost goes without saying that neither the Federation nor Vulcan considers this to be a psychological _problem_, but I'm going to say it anyway. I doubt anyone's ever going to read or listen to these logs, but on the off chance that someone does, let's be clear. It's _not_. That kind of thinking is long since past its best before date and to my mind anyone sharing it is a bigger horse's ass than I am (and believe me, I didn't think that was possible, but I'm always willing to surrender the title, trust me).

Not trying to deify or nominate anyone for sainthood, they're as humanoid as the rest of us. Nevertheless, Vulcan or human, I respect the hell out of them and this woman in particular.

My job is to treat my patient to the best of my ability, do what they tell me, and mind the lip about it. I let them set the course of treatment while I work out the nuts and bolts. They decide just how far they want the therapy to take them and I figure out how what's medically possible.

All I can do is advise on the medical options available, after that, the final decision rests with them, but that's not the kind of decision even a Vulcan makes alone. I'm guessing that's where Seleya really comes in.

We're not privy to what precisely went on in the actual cloister (huh, do - fuck, _did_ \- they even call it a cloister? I'd ask Spock, but that eyebrow of his gets old fast and I've had to shoot enough personal questions at Suvin that she'd be well within her rights to give me a hell of a lot more than an eyebrow) but I'm guessing that's a part of it.

The Vulcans aren't big on talking. Not a lot of humans are either, but some go in for the group therapy route. I'm not seeing any Vulcans sitting around in a circle, talking it through, but, well, if you can't talk about it with your priest – sorry, priestess - then who can you talk it out with?

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.25**

It has been many years since my first ascent to see the priestesses of Seleya, accepting the journey that had been laid out for me. Now I face a similar ascent that I must make if I am to continue.

I am starting not from scratch – as I believe the expression goes – but from very near to it.

Over the years of my childhood, I came to realize how my journey would end. I had believed my genetic therapy would occur on Vulcan. I had prepared the necessary leave time for an intensive and shortened treatment. Starfleet had been made aware, my shipmates at the time were as well, and all was ready.

Then Vulcan was lost and now, I find myself on a new ship with new shipmates and in the care of a man I cannot begin to understand. I remained apprehensive when I met with Doctor McCoy for the first time. I cannot confirm that Commander Spock did anything on my behalf, or if our brief conversation allowed me to see McCoy in ways I had not considered.

It was, perhaps, degrees of both.

I would still categorize the doctor's manner as being gruff. Distant. However, I thought that I detected a certain aura of concern about him. I did not find it unappealing. Rather, as I believe it was intended, it put me at ease.

I chose service aboard the Enterprise primarily because of Leonard McCoy's scientific capability. There are few doctors in Starfleet capable of working with the therapy laid out for me by my Vulcan doctors. Few Starfleet physicians could even begin to follow the intricate notes I brought with me - copies of what they had shown me at the Vulcan Science Academy - that were my treatment plans. Even fewer could actually put them into practice. Fewer still would be capable of true success.

Leonard McCoy is chief among them, yet, I still hesitated. I stood before his door and considered my options most carefully. Ultimately, to remain as I am seemed less appealing than risking confrontation. Now, having spoken with him, I am assured. I need not say relieved.

It is sufficient and, even were it not, treatment begins in the morning. I do not know where it will lead, but I do not believe that I have chosen incorrectly. Whatever Doctor McCoy's view of Vulcans and, perhaps, myself might be, remains to be seen. Fortunate then, that I have the opportunity to find out for myself. The good doctor and I have much to discuss indeed.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.30**

There's a lot I can't ask about the Vulcan process. I've run into the Rule of Silences a couple times in my career - for those playing along at home, the Rule is a Vulcan edict handed down from Surak. Basically guarantees Vulcans the right to privacy on personal matters. Kind of like the sanctity of the catholic confessional only on a much broader scale. They might want to tell you, but they _can't_ \- and, sure, it can be a colossal pain in the ass, but not always.

It bothers me that neither Suvin nor any of the other survivors can tell me what goes on, but I'm a busybody, it's always going to bother me. Fact of the matter is, outside of information which directly affects treatment, it's none of my – oh, the hell it isn't. All right, I'm trying to be an understanding adult about the whole damn thing, but fuck this bugs me. I'm messing with a person's DNA and a goddamn taboo is keeping me from getting the whole truth.

I know, I know, Suvin's an adult whose transition's been in the works for a hell of a long time. If she thought it mattered, she'd find a way to tell me. I know. The Vulcans keep a lot to themselves, I understand that, but nobody said I had to like it.

In this case, I think it's about protecting the people who follow after them. Even among Vulcans, not everyone goes through with genetic therapy. It's a deeply personal process, but even for Vulcans, not one you go through alone and I'm pretty sure the priestesses are as close to experts in Vulcan psychology as any licensed professional you're going to find - Vulcan or otherwise.

Suvin's told me herself some of it., what she can, and it's enough to know she's made the decision with all due consideration. I know, I know, I'm talking about a _Vulcan_, but I'll need to make a notation in the official log to satisfy the muckity-mucks.

The official notation takes care of any usual medical protocols on the matter, but that didn't stop Suvin from submitting to an evaluation by Elizabeth Dehner. This lady is a Vulcan right through to her backbone. She's got an appreciation for ritual and tradition that'd make your head spin and no way am I arguing otherwise with her. I think she's determined to honor the history of her people and mine.

Hell of a woman our Suvin.

And she'll need to be. The kind of genetic therapy that Suvin's facing isn't the sort of thing anyone enters into lightly. There are physical evaluations patients must undergo, Vulcan or otherwise, and there's no getting around those. We're prepping to rewrite her genetic code from the ground up. By the time we're done, her DNA and anatomy will be in full accordance with her identity and, going into it, we need to know every square inch of her genetic make up.

She's already had some limited preparatory work done, but the bulk of it will be up to me. We did get lucky, however. Suvin had some of the data with her. Not all of it, but enough to start with.

Once I've reviewed the plan they had in place, we'll start with the first stage. After that, things should proceed pretty well. The big part is the baseline genetic changes. If we can get those in and get them stable, keep the new dna and its resulting changes from falling apart or fucking us over, it's practically gravy.

Which isn't to say it'll be easy, but after everything Suvin's already been through, this is the easy part. Assuming, that is, everything goes the way it should, this will be the easy part.

And it will be if I have anything to say about it.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.35**

I cannot say they do not warn you. Doctor McCoy, especially, has been most solicitous on the matter of my therapy. I find that he uses the most unusual phrases to describe these things and have come to the conclusion they are a placebo. Or, rather, as he might term them a sweet intended upon making the consumption of bad tasting medicine more palatable.

I might term it unusual if I did not believe that, in humans, it is a highly useful trait. At any rate, puzzling over the etymology of these colloquialisms has proven distracting for me as well.

It is a testament, then, to the Doctor's foresight. Indeed, the first few months of the therapy saw me in the greatest physical discomfort of my life. It became quite difficult to ingest, and retain, food - to the point Doctor McCoy grew concerned about my nutrient intake and hypos were prescribed - and what little sleep I did require I found to be hard sought.

Yet I regret nothing.

At this stage of the therapy Doctor McCoy has made it very clear that it is yet reversible should I wish it to be. Protocol. He is aware that I do not. I am assured that the decision I have made is the correct one. There is no confusi- computer, pause recording. I believe I am about to be --

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.40**

If it weren't a gross violation of medical ethics, I think I'd marry this woman. Serious--ah hell, not seriously. Let's face it. I'm no Amanda Grayson. I drive Spock around the bend six times a day, seven or eight on Tuesdays, and that's with Jim running interference and nary a Vulcan marriage bond in sight.

Imagine what I'd do if there was one and I was in poor Suvin's head...

The whole damn planet would probably pull itself back together just so every Vulcan on it could kick my ass to Jupiter and back, and then do it all over again.

Yeah, it'd be a disaster, but doesn't change my assessment of Suvin any.

We might reassign gender with a genetic therapy these days, but it doesn't make it any easier on the patient.

Rewriting a body's genetic code is a damn tricky bit of business. I've been back and forth with the few VSA geneticists who survived Vulcan, a couple more back at Starfleet Medical, and me, M'Benga, and Christine have lost more sleep than a passel of cadets on third year exams and all to make sure Suvin's graduated recoding takes proper hold.

I could go on about the difficulties involved in getting those genetic changes to take, but I'd bore myself to tears never mind anybody who happens across this damn log. Either way, it's like this. The body's hardwired not to like anybody fucking around with it's genetic structure. It's a goddamn miracle Kahn Noonien Singh and his gang could walk around, much less take over the fucking world. Same goes here. We're two steps forward, three steps back, and that's assuming the DNA changes hold stable on our next try.

We've had to repeat a couple courses twice. It's damn tricky. God knows, Suvin's been sick as hell through it all, but damn if she's not holding up like gangbusters. I can't explain it. I don't know if it's that Vulcan constitution of hers or just _Suvin_.

Either way, if I could bottle it up and pass it on to my other patients I'd be set for life.

Have I mentioned how amazing the Vulcans are lately? Don't tell Spock I said so, but they are.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.42**

I have achieved two milestones of note. I have kept down my first meal in weeks that did not involve a measure of anti-nausea medication. Doctor McCoy is quite pleased on that front and believes I may soon cease a number of the vitamin supplements I have been taking in the near future.

He is also equally pleased to note the second in that my body's physical changes are becoming discernible. While the hormonal treatments prior to my genetic therapy did a great deal to prepare my body for these changes - thus giving some of them a 'head start - it has taken some time for even these minute changes to appear.

McCoy, however, has been unconcerned about it, despite my admitted impatience. He has focused his attention upon the changing of my genetic code, maintaining that the changes within my physical biology would come slower and, possibly, will also involve some reconstructive surgery.

He is correct, of course. Without that certainty, proceeding to the next stage would be irresponsible at best. Downright dangerous in truth. However, that does little to dull my desire to proceed. I have awaited this for decades and now that I have it within my grasp I do not believe I have any patience left in me.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.44**

Of all the goddamn reckless, downright stupid - Vulcans who are undergoing gender reassignment therapy should remember that centers of gravity can and _are_ supposed to shift. Not only should Vulcans remember this, they should take it under advisement before deciding to learn Klingon martial arts, lest they beat their goddamn brains out.

Assuming they actually have any. Honestly, didn't Suvin remember Vulcans are supposed to be the sensible ones?

And that they don't laugh at people. She gave me the eyebrow this morning. Christine swears that's the 'I'm laughing my ass off, but won't lower myself to admit it' one.

I'm inclined to believe her, even if she's laughing at me too.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.44**

Commander Spock is correct. Doctor McCoy's tendency toward colourful invectives is, indeed, most fascinating. I was unaware that the Terran epidermal layer is capable of such dramatic shifts in hue.

Also, I am fine, though I suspect he has already stated otherwise in his own medical logs. It is not uncommon to fracture bones while receiving instruction in the Mok'bara. It is, indeed, considered a sign of luck among Klingons.

Among Starfleet Medical personnel, however, it is not. I believe that I now understand Captain Kirk's reaction upon sight of Doctor McCoy wielding a hypospray.

At any rate, having treated my injuries, Doctor McCoy continued with our consultation. To that end, he has advised me that I should familiarize myself with my now-developed genitalia through the means of self-gratification before I engage in sexual intercourse with a partner. A test drive, I believe he called it.

His point is not without merit. While all nerve tests do seem to read clear, there is only one way to be absolutely sure as to my ability to achieve orgasm: test it.

I had not, despite everything, anticipated such a prescription. I believe my human shipmates would find it amusing. I cannot, in truth, disagree with them.

Also, I believe this shall prove a most _interesting_ undertaking.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.46 **

Well, the plumbing works. Lieutenant Suvin assures me that she was able to achieve a 'most satisfactory physical response' on 'numerous occasions'. A Vulcan lady just told me she had multiple orgasms on my advice. I'd be blushing if I weren't so damned relieved.

No matter how many times I do this, I always hold my breath. There are so many possible ways to gum up the works. Rewriting the genetic code like it's one of Jim's old books is goddamn risky business. Worth it, don't get me wrong, but risky. Can see where the Augments got their start too, because success? Is like a damn drug. A man could get used to playing God.

Probably shouldn't be thinking like that. Lord knows, I'd make one hell of an awful deity.

Anyway, yeah, plumbing works and who am I kidding? I get any redder, next away mission I'll be the one taking the dirt nap.

Which is a joke I absolutely did not make. Computer, strike that last. Ship's surgeons are not allowed to make godawful jokes about the Operations staff's propensity for bloody deaths.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.50**

Doctor McCoy made a most peculiar inquiry of me this morning. Upon my arrival for my appointment, he took one look at me and inquired as to whether or not I was cold. The question itself was not so illogical - given my choice of uniform and the Vulcan intolerance for cold - but the expression on his face was quite another matter entirely.

He seemed quite amused. Amused and of no mind to enlighten me. I have heard the man called bullheaded – I will never understand the Terran propensity toward peculiar colloquialisms – and consider this an understatement of gargantuan levels.

At any rate, it is only now that I understand.

When I dressed, I chose to wear a skirted uniform and, likely, the doctor viewed this as unusual. He is correct. I believe he surmised as to my intent. I am nearing the end of my treatments. The body that I see in the mirror is _mine_ in ways it was not before and, by tradition, the realization of this requires statement.

A message to the world around me, yes, but more a declaration unto myself. My journey is complete. I have reached the goal toward which I have striven.

Doctor McCoy has shown an intense interest in Vulcan traditions on the matter. I see no offense behind it and I have shared what I can.

Someday I will explain it to him. It is agreeable that someone here will understand. It is pleasing that someone will be Doctor McCoy.

 

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.50**

You know, I should know better than this. I should, but it's damned cute and funny to boot Suvin's got herself a not-so-secret admirer.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not her first. Ensign Riley has a lot of company in pining for her logical affections. Vulcans are like catnip to some people. Between Spock and Suvin, I'm pretty sure half the ship's in love with at least one of them. Both more like.

Bless him, I think Riley believes he's being subtle, but not even close. He follows her around like a puppy.

Not that I can blame the boy. Suvin walked in here yesterday and stopped the place cold.

We've been stimulating her hair follicles for the last couple weeks - nothing genetic about that, just plain ol' external stimuli - but I hadn't really noticed the results.

Noticed pretty damn well this morning.

Of course, that had as much to do with her choice of uniform as her hair. Suvin went all out. All that hair up and shining and a few light years of leg on display. Never did like those skirts, they look impractical as hell to me, but if Suvin was looking to send a message, it did it in spades.

Surprised she wore it, actually. Given the ambient temperature in here, it had to be damn cold for a Vulcan. Suvin strode in here without so much as a glance behind her and half my staff almost broke their necks staring - she's a sight to behold and Riley's love is true.

Doesn't stand a chance, of course, _Vulcan_ and all - though as far as I know, Suvin's got no ties in the marriage area as of the moment. After everything with her planet, can't blame her for being cautious either, but still, she's been through so much, she deserves someone special. Not Riley, of course, but someone.

Yes, Enterprise, your chief medical officer is an old gossip, shut up and deal with it.

 

**Lieutenant Suvin's Personal Log: Stardate: 2259.75**

I am informed by Doctor McCoy that, medically, my gene therapy is complete. It is not unexpected by any means. I have seen the most recent scans for myself. Genetically and anatomically, the changes are complete. All which remains is, as Doctor McCoy might say, settling in.

I suppose some might expect a dramatic pronouncement. Perhaps a deep, meaningful statement as to the nature of my journey but I cannot think of anything which requires such. I was Suvin then, I am Suvin now and to state further seems extraneous.

Nurse Chapel suggested an old medical axiom employed by doctors with little experience in their own treatments.

"Well that didn't hurt a bit."

I do not profess to understand humans in any shape or form, but I believe she meant this with irony. As she and Doctor McCoy personally attended me through the worst of my therapy, I can see no other reason save extreme memory loss and Nurse Chapel has shown no signs of that at all.

Perhaps, on my next visit I shall suggest it, if only to view the resulting expressions on their faces.

It will be a most satisfactory experience.


End file.
